


the summer breeze that brought you to me

by jaystrifes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Childhood Friends, Falling In Love, Growing Up Together, M/M, Pokemon References, Probably too many of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaystrifes/pseuds/jaystrifes
Summary: The summer when you're ten years old, a boy moves in next door for seemingly the express purpose of annoying you. He names you his best friend on a whim, which might also be annoying if you didn't like him so much.The summer when you're thirteen years old, he starts dating your cousin and it's no big deal, because why would it be a big deal? You don't know why you're relieved when they break up mid-way through eighth grade, but you try not to seem too happy about it when you're consoling them each in turn.The summer when you're sixteen years old, he ruins you with one kiss, and not until then does everything click into place, because you're Dirk Strider, dumbass bastard supreme.





	the summer breeze that brought you to me

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday present for [Meghan](http://hopeful-lad.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

You’re ten years old when a boy moves in next door. You spend most of the morning standing on the two bean bag chairs you stacked in a pile in order to look out your bedroom window, watching him run around outside on his new lawn while adults unload the moving truck.

At some point, a man you assume is his dad comes and sets up a tire swing on the tree that sits directly beneath your window, on the unfenced border between their part of the cul-de-sac and yours. In your mind, it’s an unpardonable offense. That’s your tree, the one you like to climb. He can’t just take it from you like that.

You march right outside to tell him so.

His dad has gone back to keep unloading the truck, but the boy is sitting there in the tire, his head barely peeking over from behind the top of it. He’s probably around your age. His attention isn’t on you, but on the bustle of movers shuffling boxes from the truck into the house like a steady line of worker ants. When you speak, he gives a little startled jump and looks at you with eyes wide and blue behind his glasses’ lenses.

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here now. What are you doing here?” He ducks his head and shoulders through the center of the tire to face forwards and squints as he fully takes stock of you. “You’ve got funny glasses.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “I lived here first. You’re in my tree.”

“Why is it your tree?”

“It just is.”

“Prove it.”

You stand there, gawking at him a little bit, at a loss for how to respond. He looks smug, looking down from a foot above you thanks to the height of the swing. You kind of want to shove him out of it. You try, but you only succeed in making the tire sway on its rope. You push again, and the tire spins a little. The other boy is totally gleeful about the whole thing, giggling as he rides through the air. You give up and stand there with your arms crossed, stony-faced, until he finally slows to a stop.

“Thanks, that was fun!” he declares, his face beaming with a buck-toothed smile. “I like you, so you can use my tire swing anytime you want. I’m John.”

He kicks his legs to propel himself backwards and then forwards, stretching out his hand to you. You smack it away from you, but John seems unperturbed by your rejection.

“I don’t care about your stupid tire swing. I just don’t want it in my tree.”

John sticks out his tongue and blows a raspberry. “That’s too bad. My dad already put it here.”

“Don’t you have any other trees in your backyard?” you ask, resorting to reason now.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Why can’t you just use one of those?”

He ignores the question in favor of pointing out, “You never told me your name.”

“It’s Dirk,” you snap unwillingly. “Can’t you just leave my tree alone?”

“Hmm.” John swings himself close to the trunk, making a show of searching for something. “I don’t see ‘Dirk’s tree’ written anywhere. Also, that’s a funny name.”

You think your head might explode. Pointing your finger at him, you say, “I challenge you.”

“You sound like Ash Ketchup.”

“It’s _Ketchum_ , and no, I don’t. Meet me back here in 15 minutes. We’re gonna have a duel to see who gets the tree.”

“What kind of duel? Like a Pokemon battle?”

He doesn’t even pronounce Pokémon right. There’s obviously supposed to be an accent on the e. Who even says Pokey-mon? Fake fans, that’s who.

“No,” you grit out. “A real duel.”

John keeps on grinning. You wonder if he ever stops. “Okay! Sounds fun.”

“It’s not supposed to be fun. This isn’t a game, John. This is serious business.”

“Oooh. That sounds just like something someone in a game would say!”

You throw your hands in the air and turn your back on him. True to your word, though, you meet him 15 minutes later, bearing your gleaming katana that’s nearly as long as you are tall. Technically not yours — Dave keeps it for decoration, but he’s not around right now, so you don’t think he’ll miss it.

John arrives on a pogo stick with a big inflatable hammer in tow. You look from his goofy smile and toy weapon to your sharp steel blade and consider then that maybe you have a bit of an unfair advantage here. You let out a big sigh. Pokémon battle it is.

The two of you grab your DS consoles and sit together underneath the tree, on opposite sides so you can’t peek at each other’s moves. Your luxray kicks his prinplup’s ass so hard it’s not even funny, then sweeps the rest of his team because the idiot uses only water and flying types. You expect him to be upset about losing, but even though you crushed him, he ooh’s and aah’s at the strength of your team when you let him see all their stats just to show off.

His mood falls a little when he remembers the stakes. “So you get the tree, huh? I’ll have my dad take down the tire swing. We can find somewhere else for it.”

You want to savor the victory and enjoy the spoils of it, but you just can’t. “Wait,” you call as he starts to trudge across his lawn. “You can leave it where it is.”

John’s face lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s not a big deal.”

John sprints towards you and flings himself on you, bowling you over in a tight hug. You’re so surprised by the sudden contact that you choke a little. The fact that his arms are squeezing your neck doesn’t help your breathing, either. When you start flailing at him, he finally gets that he needs to let go, and sits back on his heels sheepishly while you cough for breath. You can feel your face has turned beet red.

“Do you have a best friend?” he asks, out of the blue.

You think of Jake and Jane, the friends you left behind when Dave decided to move here with you three years ago, who you’ve rarely talked to since. Jane is hardly ever online, and Jake doesn’t even have a computer or an email, and when you call him at home he's always busy so you're stuck talking to his grandma. There’s Roxy, but she’s also your cousin, and obviously you love her, because she’s family. It’s just different.

“I guess not anymore,” you admit.

“Me neither!” he says brightly. “Since I just moved and all.”

You’re not sure where he’s going with this, so you say, “Hm.”

“Hmmmm,” he echoes, dragging it on longer. “Well, I was thinking — you can be my new best friend, and I can be yours since you don’t have one either.”

You frown, eyebrows pinching together. Best friends are serious business, after all. “But you barely know me. How do you know you want me to be your best friend?”

John shrugs, smiling in a way that’s as thoughtful as it is cheeky. “I just do. You have a cool sword and you’re good at Pokémon, and we’re neighbors, and I like you. That’s enough, right?”

When he puts it that way, you guess you don’t sound too lame. You don’t know how you could say no to that eager, expectant look, either. In the time you’ve lived here, you haven’t exactly made many friends so far. It’s a change to meet someone who’s actually excited to be around you, but a nice change.

“Yeah,” you decide. “That’s enough.”

You tend to keep up your stoic face in imitation of your bro, practicing for the times when you have to go out in front of the paparazzi with him. You’re so used to it that your smile feels a little awkward even when you try it on for yourself in the mirror, but you offer it to John anyways. His is radiant, a grinning mouthful of teeth shining bright as the sun. He gives you his hand, pulls you to your feet, and says,

“Come on, you’ve gotta meet my dad. I can’t wait to tell him I’ve got the best new best friend in the world!”

So you go with him, and his dad pauses with all the moving in just to dig the baking supplies out of their box and make a cake for you and John. He even lets you have the leftover frosting. You swipe your fingers through it and diligently lick them clean, but John sticks his whole face in the bowl and comes up with so much white goop on his chin he looks like he has a Santa Claus beard. It’s smeared on the tip of his nose too, stuck in his hair, everywhere.

He gets an evil look on his face and, before you can run, corners you in your chair and paints a frosting mustache on your upper lip, then laughs at you. You want to scrub it away, but you’ll only get your hands messy, and besides, you’re kind of laughing too, and you laughing makes him laugh more, and before you know it you’re both on the floor in near hysterics, pointing at each other’s ridiculous and delicious-tasting imitation facial hair.

In that moment, you get the feeling it’s going to be a good, long summer. And it is.

___

When your bro comes back from his latest trip, it’s to you and John having a secret sleepover. Your bedroom door swings open and your heart leaps into your throat as you try to hide John under the bed, thinking it’s your babysitter, but instead it’s Dave standing there and for a second you forget everything else and launch yourself into his arms. He picks you up and puts you on his shoulders, even though you’re too big for that now, and then flips you over his head and catches you and tickles you until you’re laughing so hard it’s inaudible. John watches the whole fiasco with a bemused look, sitting halfway under your bed frame.

“And this must be John?” Dave mercifully lowers you and lets you collapse on the floor to catch your breath. He sits down on the carpet with you, even though there are juice stains and he’s wearing a nice suit, and John crawls out to shake his hand.

“I’m Dirk’s best friend!” he announces proudly. “And your new neighbor. My dad and I moved in a couple of weeks ago. How do you know my name?”

“What, you think my little bro doesn’t call me when I’m gone? Keeps me up to date with all the business, dawg.”

You don’t point out that mostly leave voicemails and rarely ever get to actually talk to him, but you’re glad he listens to them, at least. Besides, you’re too happy that he’s back now to be upset. Not that you would be, because you’re chill, like him.

“Oh, I got it. Dawg.” You can already tell John’s about to start saying that in every sentence from now on. He looks a little awestruck, understandably, because your bro is just about the coolest guy ever. “So you’re like, a movie star, right?”

Dave laughs. “Not exactly. I write and direct, which is like, at least 90% cooler than acting.”

“Wow!”

You nod sagely in affirmation. “90% is a lot.”

“Can I see your movies?” John asks eagerly.

“Maybe. Depends on whether or not Dirk thinks you’re cool. What’s the verdict, little man?”

You pause as if you’re actually deliberating on it, but John’s anxious, subtly pleading look cracks you sooner than expected. “Yeah. He’s way cool. Ice cold. Not just some regular old freezer ice, but like the kind of ice you find when you go all the way to the North Pole just to get the coldest ice possible and you take your katana and use it to carve a big piece out of Antarctica to bring home with you as a souvenir. That’s how cool he is.”

“Dang,” Dave says, and you can’t help but puff out your chest, proud of your long-winded metaphor. He’s the master of those, obviously, and yours aren’t as good as his, but sometimes they’re at least a little bit good. “That sounds wicked cool. We can show you SBaHJ in the morning, ‘kay John?”

“Awesome, dawg,” John breathes reverently.

“Awesome, dawg,” Dave repeats, and holds up his fist first to John and then to you. You both bump it, John with enthusiasm and you more casually, because, you know, you’re cool like that, like you’re not even trying to be cool, just like how Dave doesn’t have to try.

He’s only around for a week, long enough to watch a few movies and take you and John out for ice cream, and introduce himself to John’s dad. Then he’s flying out to Atlanta or wherever his crew’s been filming most recently, and you’re stuck with your lame babysitter again.

Like always, you get depressed for a little while, but at least you don’t feel so alone now. Even when you don’t do anything but lie in the grass beneath your tree and stare up at the white condensation trails left in the wake of passing planes against the clear blue of the sky, missing Dave, John doesn’t leave your side. Every now and then, his pinky finger will tap against yours in a child’s approximation of Morse code. Message: I’m here.

___

You end up using his tire swing as much as he uses the rest of the tree, so sharing doesn't turn out to be as awful as you first thought. When you’re not busy racing each other to the highest branches that will hold your weight, you’re pushing him in all sorts of crazy directions as fast as you can, or he’s standing on the outside edges of the tire and spinning you uncontrollably as you lay inside the rim. You throw up, once, and it’s terrible and gross and you think he’s going to hate you for ruining the day’s fun, but John just laughs until you start laughing too, even with your head still dizzy and your stomach still mourning its lost lunch.

In the last few weeks of summer, John’s dad helps the two of you build a treehouse. Or, more accurately, the two of you help him build the treehouse, with the passing of nails and hammer from hand to hand being a generous definition of ‘help.’ Still, there’s an incredible satisfaction that comes from taking part in its creation, from seeing it grow from a meager cube-shaped frame to a finished thing with walls and a roof and windows nestled squarely in the middle of the tree’s sturdiest branches. A rope ladder hangs down from its entrance, but you only use that when John’s dad is watching; otherwise, you shimmy your way up the trunk like any tree-climber worth his salt.

The treehouse becomes your favorite place to spend the day, high enough above the rest of the world to make you feel comfortably alone with John, out of bounds of the rules that govern your daily life. John keeps it stocked with snacks and junk food your babysitter won’t let you eat at home, and you can play Pokémon for as long as you want without getting lectured about how the screen is ruining your eyes. You don’t play it all the time, anyways. Sometimes you spend hours just sitting side by side with him and dangling your arms out the window, letting the warm breeze drift between your fingers.

Eventually, it starts to cool, giving way to autumn, and with it the start of a new school year, but by then you and John are already inseparable. Dread doesn’t encroach on your heart like it has in the past few years. If anything, you’re excited to show off your new best friend; nobody likes you more now just because you hang out with John, but he makes it easy to ignore even the worst of the teasing you’re used to. He’s so stubbornly outgoing that the regular bullies find it impossible to pick on him, and he makes you feel brave enough to stand up for yourself.

Before, they used to chase you off easily, but you and John make such a pair of ironic pranksters that eventually they retreat to the field so they won’t have to deal with you. For once, you get the playground all to yourself. Your favorite part of your newfound domain is the jungle gym. You like to hang by your legs and watch upside down as John works his way back and forth across the monkey bars.

On the days when you tire of that, you spend your lunch and recess together huddled over your Pokémon trading cards. You spend your classes exchanging looks across the room, perfecting the art of communicating with each other without so much as a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [together forever, no matter how long](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92uC_RcA7EE/)


End file.
